It was once pleasurable. To be in this office, the smell of burning paper that never managed to leave and rotten food and moldy cheese left at the bottom as a token in the office as something to remember for. It was once something pleasurable to be in here. Popping in their WWW products into their very own mouths experimenting on themselves in a naive sort of light. They would laugh and joke and draw plans for their future of Weasly Wizards Wheezes, but as George stood in the frame of the doorway he wished that the memories of all the pure innocence would evaporate away, along with the dragging feeling of pale melancholy in his stomach. He shook slightly, tilting his head side to side as if trying to see the whole room in a better view. It had been a while since he had been in this house, in this very room in fact. He traced circles on the handsome wood of the door. He took in a deep breath just below his diaphragm, but he had to be brave. He came all this way from his home to do this. He raised his right foot and planted it softly on the floor, officially in the room.
"CREEEAKKK!" The floor wailed and George winced reminded of the loose floorboards from below. He slowly made his way to their desk, the one he once shared with his brother. He ran his fingers over the dusty cold metal and shivered as he made his way past old Bertie Botts Every Flavored Beans packages. A dirty picture frame seemed to stand out on the desk more than anything else. And before George could stop himself he let out a shaky distraught sob, then groped his very own throat to stop his cry. He stooped even lower to examine it even further, even though every second that he edged closer to his picture his heartbeat would get louder and his throat would get just a bit tighter. He gripped the frame with pale shaky fingers and eyed the picture with his all might. He and his brother were sitting in just the same office. A certain sort of recklessness blazed brightly in their eyes, their arms were looped around each other and George gave a startled cry before dropping the frame. He could just imagine the night like it was just yesterday…
A feeling of a surreal silence finally settled over the office as George spun around woozily in the spiny chair while his twin brother Fred watched him with an expression of delight. The night had fallen all to quickly all around, and the twins had dismissed themselves from dinner before their mother could even shake her finger with an angry 'NO!' After about thirty minutes of drying up their throats with their consumption of their products just making them relaxed and comfortable just with each other and nobody else. They didn't have to be like everybody else in the family to know what was going on. But they still kept smiles bright and jokes peeling all around.
"George?" Fred asked with an oddly serious tone. George stopped spinning on the chair and stared at his twin quizzically.
"Yes?" Fred seemed to stare his twin down with a hollow look in his eye and George knew that something was wrong.
"Do you ever just think… Want… Wonder… Does it hurt George?" George understood his brother very well and understood straight away.
"Yes," George responded, knowing all to well from hearing it from his mother. Death was a painful thing, not just to the lost person life, but to those who sit on earth mourning about the loss. Fred moved closer to his twin, seeking his security, trying to memorize the fact that he was still there.
"What if I die George? What if I die because this war kills me?" George saw in his brothers eyes the feeling of fear and George couldn't allow that. Because he didn't look up to Harry Potter ( Well, maybe a little bit ) and he didn't support Voldemort. (Damn his life if he did). No, he loved, and supported, and looked up to his brother, and the shaky fear that shook throughout his eyes made George want to tell his brother how much he loved him, and how he couldn't… No, he wouldn't let his brother go.
"You won't die, Fred. I promise."
And that was his last promise to his twin before his eerie death.
George banged his fists against the table ignoring the stinging discomfort the metal brought to his fists and he cried. They were real tears. How couldn't they be? His brother was his best friend. His partner for life and crimes, and the mysterious glow in the office disappeared in it's place was a mourning loss, as George started to howl like a wolf to the moon. His fists made contact with walls and his eyes were shut closed to stop the tears, to stop crying, but they still came. And George cried out his heart. Along with pushing the desk over and shattering the glass frame of him and his brother along with it. And when he was done he lay on the floor like a wounded dog, blood and glass mixed on his fist and tears running down his face, because all the protection and surreal strength about him disappeared. He was no longer the strong wizard who had just fought a war. He was weak and helpless… But not at all innocent. Because more than that all he need was his brother. And for a minute he lay and wept, then stood up straight like a business man and walked out the door taking another helpless lost glance back. He would be back.
"Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal."